No Heroes
Part 2: Hard wakeup calls

Early AM Tuesday morning, January 10, 2017,
Twain Cottage, Whateley Academy.

Benjamin Keeling's head ached like all the usual holes in his skull had been reamed out two sizes larger with a rusty rasp. He remembered something about being thankful that the Advanced Technologies Department had opted for a late-night decision tree instead of a maze of twisty sub-specialties all alike. Or was it the other way around? Worse yet, someone had given him "devisor coffee" without saying what part of the devisor they used. Maybe he could kill the lingering taste by licking an old sock? In the end, caffeine and sugar carried him as far as Twain Cottage's ground floor common room.

The couches looked so comfy.

A minute or two of shut-eye before stumbling upstairs couldn't hurt.

Still too freakin' early.

"Wakey, wakey!"

The Benjie-shaped lump on the couch tried burrowing under a cushion to escape the hated morning. The key word was 'tried'. Max Livingston grabbed the cushion, half-expecting to lift Benjamin with it. Maybe Grouchy the Roomie would be more responsive now?

"Yo, Dude, why did you sleep down here? I know we registered your fingerprint with the lock!"

"jsFvmrmnutz"

Responsive, maybe. Coherent? Not so much.

"Come again? Did you say you wanted to listen to an Elvis marathon tonight, or was it Little Richard?"

"Fugoff. 'mnot tha' tired." Benjamin rolled toward the back of the couch.

It wasn't the worst couch badger imitation Max had seen. But should he introduce Benjamin to Ratel so early in a school career? A little larceny, a little mayhem. Decisions, decisions...

"Nope! Let's see some feet on deck and daylight between your ass and the rack, or I come back with the Spanish bagpipes."

Benjamin groaned, "Geez! All right already!" He lurched to his feet and almost overrotated face-first into a coffee table. He hadn't had a post-ictal this bad in a couple of years. He'd have to ask Colombine what gaffes he'd committed while fuzzy-headed. Benjamin didn't recall forgetting to take his meds, or taking them, either. Schroedinger's cat meds? Yet, how else could he have dreamed up the argument over basic criminology with a female cyborg who wasn't Yuki? If he sat carefully and held onto his head with both hands, braced with his knees, maybe it wouldn't roll too far away when it fell off.

"This isn't the best way to start a new term. You need books, classes, and a clue or two. Hey! Maybe a theme song would help!"

Benjamin responded with complete words this time. "So I heard. Placement testing yesterday. Med Center today. No theme song tomorrow."

"What do you need the Med Center for? You're not bleeding. Not that I mind. I don't get to keep hazmat gear in the room until after I take a few more Workshop decon courses."

"I'm not that bad."

"You keep telling yourself that. I just happen to know that I've never seen a vampire even come close to you. Let's grab your shit. Might as well hit the showers before the bathroom gets crowded."

"Since when have you seen a vampire? Max? Is there something or someone I should know about?"

Second floor, freshman showers.

There was a short line for the showers, but no one had taken the handicapped shower. First, Benjamin dismissed his manifested body makeup. He then set his t-shirt and shorts down on a bench where he hoped they wouldn't get splashed on. One of the other residents called out from a shower stall, "Hey, Max! I heard they found another pretty for you to drive insane. That true?"

Benjamin mouthed a question to Max, "Pretty?"

"I know, right? These guys just don't appreciate the full, triple-threat package I bring to the table, you know?"

In Max's case, the full package started with a linebacker's build piled onto a basketball pro's height. Other people would notice the gray-green skin and gold-capped tusks. Not to be outdone, a leonine mane grew from his scalp and nape, wrapped around his shoulders, and tracked down Max's chest. At the moment, the hair rippled in dayglo versions of Max's happy colors. However, that was just Max, and Max is Max. Benjamin shook his head.

The guy stepped out of the shower, still drying his face with a towel, "Sure, Max. I was talking about the other ... Shit! Do we need to call a doctor?"

On a good day, fluorescent lighting was unkind to Benjamin's naturally pale, now ashen olive-gray complexion. Black veins on his eyes and near-black lips, post-seizure exhaustion, a bum eye, old scars, and new bruises didn't improve the picture. All Max saw was Way-too-Private Benjamin.

Most folks agreed to disagree with the two walking, talking damage assessments.

Max asked Benjamin, "Do you see anything?"

They were in a ceramic tiled bathroom, practically a locker room. Benjamin snuck a quick look around and screwed his face up at the dire possibilities. "Should I?" he asked. If anything crawled up from the drains, he could try shanking it. Otherwise, damned if he knew what to look for.

"Maybe? You get used to the weird stuff after a while." Max nudged the short guy (minuscule compared to Max) ahead of him and pointed to a vacated stall.

"Simon? Shower's open. My roomie's got to have the one with rails and traction strips."

"Cool. Speak up, though. I'd like to know how you two got put together, too."

It wasn't exactly rocket science, was it? Benjamin hung up his towel where it shouldn't get wet and started his shower, talking over the water, "I've known Max for the last two, three years? If I hadn't gotten myself injured, right before the school year, we would have been assigned together from the start."

The other guy – Simon? – wasn't in a hurry to buy that. "Yeah, that's the thing. Except for special cases like Toby and Vic, Taka and Jimmy, and me and Julien, the guys who can easily pass for normal, the pretties, are supposed to be assigned roommates who can't pass and vice versa."

"I met Taka on the flight over."

Very pretty. Maybe too serious?

Max said, "That must be it, then. Benjamin needs someone like me around to remind him what normalcy is!"

"Isn't normal a washing machine setting?"

"That's not normal, just boring!"

"I could use a good boring."

"You'll have to catch a ride into Montreal for that. Breakfast first, remember?"

Crystal Hall Cafeteria Ground Floor: Lowlifes, Lowlies, and other Freshmen.

Max limited his "yellow flag" concessions to a lime green hoodie and gray sweats. Benjamin dragged yesterday's clothes on over a fresh underlayer before putting on his usual makeup. He stuck to the tunnels, as planned, to avoid this place's winterness until the weather was warmer. They caught back up to each other in one of the cafeteria's checkout lanes.

< "Y'know, Max, there are these weird edible things called vegetables. Recommended by five out of ten practicing witch-doctors." >

< "Sure! But I like mine well-seasoned without resorting to chemical warfare, and that limits my options. Unlike you, I'm a growing boy!" >

< "I've got another inch or two in me. You'll see." >

"Right," drawled the security officer who'd walked up behind the two hungry teens. "Just don't ask me to hold my breath waiting for it. Because that much ain't happening."

They turned to face the speaker, not fast enough to provoke, not slow enough to offend the woman. It wasn't like they were worried she could take them down. They already knew she could.

"Hello, boys," Officer Yuki Takenaka said.

It would have been a fine impersonation of a popular TV character had the irritation and menace not been sincere.

"Hello, Officer... er... Takenaka?"

"Takenaka? What? No, boys. I'm the Krampus Terminator. That's how I manage to cross international borders without causing an international incident."

Max rolled with it, smiling, "So that's how you do it! I wonder if my agent will go for something like that? That reminds me: I didn't see either of you at my last big event!"

"Max, you knew that I didn't have the time off. Keeling here's the one without an excuse."

Benjamin looked around in panic. If she was going to bring up that op...

"Couldn't we find a better place? Anywhere?"

"Funny you should ask. I have the perfect spot in mind." Takenaka took Max by a fistful of shirt, Benjamin by the collar. She didn't stop walking them like misbehaving puppies until the three reached a table partly hidden by an upward-flowing watercourse.

"It's routinely swept for bugs, and the water feature acts as a white noise generator," Officer Yuki Takenaka explained. "Something to think about when your corporate masters weld you to a desk. Spill."

Benjamin groused, "You mean weld me back to a desk. I was stuck on limited duty until mid-December."

"It can't have been that bad! Not bad enough for you to miss out on seeing my holographic Elvis jumpsuit!"

Yuki crossed her arms. Too early in the day for strangling some sense into the oversized child. Either oversized child.

"Max? Don't you have injury lawsuits to settle over that thing?"

"... Maybe?"

"Quiet, Max. Benjie here's still got some 'splaining to do."

Here it comes.

"Company business."

That was the best answer Benjamin could risk. So, of course, it couldn't be good enough. It had always been a matter of time, hadn't it? The day was always coming, when he'd have to go too far past the lines his few friends in the world could live with.

"No. This time, I need you to do better than that. That limited duty was supposed to be indefinite, so what changed in mid-December other than your fancy new AI?"

Benjamin poked at his food. It beat looking his soon-to-be-ex-friends in the eye.

"A shipment I was quarterbacking got jacked. I took lead on delivering a corporate statement."

"At least you weren't running guns to Uyghurs," Max joked.

That sinking feeling must be his stomach. Maybe his heart, frozen like a stone caern left out in the wind and Pamir Mountain sands.

"Er, you weren't, were you?"

Trust Max to look on the brightly wrong side of things.

"..."

"There? You could've been captured, killed, or, or worse!"

I knew they'd hate me for being involved. More than involved.

The rejection wasn't unexpected, but it still hurt.

Can't. I need out.

"I've got to go."

Some part of his brain registered that 'rushing past the cyborg' isn't a winning play. Not in football, not in this life.

"Sit down! That wasn't an invitation to break out the buckshot mouthwash. Colombine, I know you're listening. When Benjie's brain comes back online sometime tomorrow, remind the asshole that playing us like civilians who wouldn't understand our own goddamned line of work is a dick move."

The AI rezzed in wearing a freshly laundered and pressed Whateley uniform. She scribbled something on a clipboard.

"I already have a list started," Colombine said. "I'll just add another page."

Max's heavy brows furrowed. "Yuki? Why am I smelling trouble?"

"You're at Whateley Academy, Max. There's always trouble. That goes double with you two lugnuts on the loose."

"Thank you both so very much for the support."

"Oh, so now you want support? As if we'd just leave you hanging? Tempting though it may be some days."

Yuki didn't wait for a reply before forging ahead. She'd had to rehearse what she wanted to say a solid three go-rounds before she could hold the repressed fear back. Not the time to back down now.

"Security's first round of nastygrams last night came from the Phys. Ed. and Social Studies departments. They weren't the last. Benjie, what do you remember of your so-called conversation with Inspector Kwan and Chief Everheart?"

Benjamin answered with a blank stare.

"... Not a clue. Fuck. Never mind, I know how you get after a bad one. I'm surprised you still have teeth. By the way, Psychic Arts is now Officially Unamused that you've been running around without adult supervision. Their idea of adult supervision, not yours. Do NOT ask your boss or your mother to correct their errors in risk assessment. Actually, no. I'm only saying that on behalf of Security. Speaking for myself, I'd love to see that happen way too much. And, not to be outdone, Mystic Arts wants to introduce you to some groovy places on campus that I wouldn't stake any of my exes to."

"Damn." Max said to Benjamin, "I think you've outdone yourself this time."

"But it was just placement tests!"

"Just placement tests? See? I knew you were dropped on your head as a baby! Max, after that incident that we are not talking about without a whole lot more countermeasures, a job that definitely wasn't in Chinese territory, Benjie here was being evaluated for his Boy Scout Rager merit badge. I'm just giving you two knuckle-chucks a heads-up to keep your noses clean, for all the good that will do. Sometimes, I'm not sure why I bother. Don't answer that."

"Huh."

Yuki shook her head at her friend's eloquence, saying, "I'm going back to my shift before all Hell cuts loose again. Try not to do anything too destructive without asking me if I want in."

Max let the silence linger as long as he could stand before asking, "So! What's next on the playbill?"

9 AM, Tuesday,
Doyle Medical Center, Whateley Academy.

For every suite of patient waiting lounges there must be some interior designer who's given up on life. The industrial carpeting in muted color schemes proclaimed that this was where wasted time went to die. If a patient died in the waiting room, they could probably still bill the estate for the visit without ever having to do anything. It'd be a genius accounting move if nothing else. Benjamin settled for a beige chair that looked older than him, but big enough for curling up on and going comatose. He'd kipped in worse places.

He most certainly did not jump out of the chair when an animated lock of hair tapped him on the shoulder. It was just unexpected, that's all!

"Good morning! I'm Doctor Tenent, no relation to the actor. Let's start with a few standard questions to see if I have the correct patient and charts. Benjamin Xiáng Keeling?"

"Correct."

"Born April twenty-fourth, two thousand?"

"November fifth."

Dr. Tenent noted that the patient 'appeared orientated' on the intake paperwork.

"Allergies?"

Benjamin shook his head to clear out the headache blinkers in his eyes.

"None that I know about. Do stupid people count?"

"If they did, young man, I'd be pushing up daisies. Are you taking any medications for a known medical condition or as a dietary supplement?"

"Keppra and Dilantin. Klonopin as needed. It'd be great if I could get them refilled."

"When do you run out?"

"I'm guessing yesterday or the day before."

Dr. Tenent paused for a slow count to ten before continuing. "Are you taking any recreational or illicit compounds or diverted prescription medications other than as described?"

"Don't need them."

"I'll interpret that as a 'no' for now. Any recent medical problems other than yesterday's episode?"

"Recent? Nothing that I can think of." Not that he'd know, not unless someone told him afterward. September wasn't recent, so that could be struck from the list.

"Okay. Follow me to Examination Room Four. For the rest of the examination, I'm going to need you to discontinue all spells, powers, gadgets, and so forth. We don't need any of that to interfere with our tests."

Benjamin pooled all the makeup and FX materials into a ball, which he dropped into a trash can. There was nothing special or new about body makeup. A false sclera slid off the sinistral eyeball, leaving a green orb behind. That would be a good trick for scaring the younger kids come Halloween.

Dr. Tenent sighed at the oversight and said, "We probably should have gotten samples first."

"Already gone, see?" He pointed to the now-empty can. "Once I lose contact, it all reverts to smoke and mirrors."

"Can you see through your left, er, orb?"

Benjamin stiffened but said, "There isn't another eye behind it, if that's what you're asking."

"I meant in the sense of seeing through it like you see through your other eye."

"Um? It's opaque?"

"Can you remove it?" That got another flinch out of him. The stone tracked with the boy's remaining eye. For my next trick: coaxing a panicking mutant into releasing his death grip on the chair.

"It's kind of attached. I don't plan on helping you cut it out of my head."

"Prosthetic eyes can be removed for cleaning. No scalpels needed," said Dr. Tenent.

"I'll take your word on that when I get one."

... but only until I make my escape, Doctor Mengele.

Now that he thought to look, the examination room had way too much equipment and way too few exits for one patient.

Today's going to suck.

Some pokes, prods, and blood samples later.

Benjamin returned from exploratory radiology before Dr. Tenent returned, so he hurried up and waited. Again. Apparently, that was just how doctors' offices and labs worked. Worse than the military, from what he'd seen. He woke up to Dr. Tenent's voice.

"Benjamin, I'd like you to meet Dr. Wyatt Cody."

Oh, bear.

The man padding into the examination room like he owned the joint easily had a foot of height and a double fistful of reach on Benjamin. From the hair on the back of the man's neck to the five o'clock wire brush, the best word to describe him was "ursine". His eyes looked friendly, his pose studiously unthreatening. Benjamin took a chance on the offered handshake but kept his eye on the nearest door in case the locals still wanted to play Amateur Ophthalmologist.

"I'm not going to break your hand, Benjamin."

"What kind of doctor?"

It was never a good sign when that wasn't mentioned upfront.

"Getting to the point? Cool. I have a doctorate in Psychology and a medical degree specializing in Psychiatry. Both come from a fully accredited university. Will that be good enough, or do I have to go find the original Crackerjack box?"

"As long as you remember which head to shrink. I was kind of expecting a neurologist, to be honest."

"I strongly recommend honesty. And, in the interest of full disclosure, she's still reviewing your records." Dr. Cody couldn't miss the increased heart rate or its echo, the boy's neck and shoulder muscles tensing, nor the anxious smell. "Calm down, son. We aren't planning on cracking your head open to look for the toy prize inside." Both heart rates spiked. Joy.

"Moving along, what we need now is for you to take this and swallow it." Dr. Cody held out a small glowing sphere to Benjamin.

Benjamin could hardly feel or read the "pill" in the palm of his hand. Trusting something that came with after-images like this thing was a hard sell. Didn't you have to take the drug before the hallucinations start? He held it up to his nose and carefully sniffed. Nothing. "What is it?"

"It's a medical probe spell that will log your health status to a spell designed for analyzing the information. I've beefed up the built-in stabilizing element in case that rock in your head has tricks we don't know about. There's also a mild sedative spell woven in, to keep you calm without worrying about medication interactions. The sooner it goes down the hatch, the sooner we can wrap up."

Time to find out if Dr. Tenent's a witness, a colleague, or an accomplice? Benjamin swallowed the glowing dot. Too late now. Hard to tell if you've gotten a thing down when it's weightless. The sedative had the smoothest come-up of anything he remembered from past hospital visits. Just like those visits he remembered, he had to fight his instinct to fight to maintain awareness. Glowing symbols began to scroll like a head-up display in front of Dr. Cody and the bear-like thing around him. Side-effect or seizure aura? Some of the symbols turned mauve.

"Steady there. Let us do the worrying. Just breathe in and out. Relax."

A memory fragment echoed in Benjamin's head.

Breathe deeply. In. Hold. Now out. Relax. Let us examine your performance today.

Can't breathe!

Got to get out! Locks, locks, where'd I hide the pick? Can't move!

The world turned a jagged, electrified red and black around Benjamin. Fresh ozone and old feces.

No, not Matthew. Matthew is dead? But...

Electric blue sparks crackled and leaped from one mountain to another over a narrow bridge in his head.

Kees? Who's Kees? not-Matthew.

Someone poured the old him out of his head, leaving him riding lightning through the gathering smoke hissing in demonic tongues. Black. Hide in the dark. Crawl in the dark. So cold.

Hide, or they'll drag you back... Hide! Can't let them find me.

GET AWAY FROM ME!

Wyatt's consciousness crawled its way back from unplanned hibernation through a fog of waning confusion. The Kodiak grumbled something about falling anvils and how that miserable cartoon coyote must've felt. Medical monitors blinked and smoked like an EMP grenade had gone off in the room. His patient! The kid must have fallen to the floor. Working by touch in near darkness, he couldn't miss Jacksonian muscle twitching under his hands as he rolled the patient into the recovery position.

Doctor Tenent had fallen close to where she'd been standing. The lights came back on just as Wyatt got to her. As luck would have it, he was kneeling over her body when her eyes opened.

"Sorry, Doctor, but it's not what it looks like." Wyatt Cody was still enough of a rogue to pull off the vaguely not-very-apologetic look.

"Story of my life, Doctor. What about our patient?"

"Possibly concussed, but the seizure is winding down."

Tenent asked, "Do we try the spell again, or do we go for another EEG while we can?" She took the hand Wyatt offered to stand up.

"Baloo says the transmission side of the spell wasn't affected. We can recover most of the information and then some by restarting the receiver spell. We'll need to keep him sedated, somehow."

Ophelia looked around at the collateral damage. "And away from our equipment. No problem. One of our devisors working in anesthetics has improved on Knock-Out #3. I carry it in my purse these days."

"Oh? And that's not going to flush any trust he has in us down the toilet."

"Got a better plan, Doctor? It's certainly no worse than some of the Alpha pranks I recall from back in the day."

"Touché"

Of course, the basics wouldn't be simple despite the near-miracles they had at hand here.

"We're going to need to start blood banking for our patient."

Dr. Tenent looked up from her notes and asked Wyatt, "How exotic is the blood sample this time? Sidhe? Anti-matter antigens? Liquid bloodsteel?"

"With a thorough type and cross, plus plasma extenders? He might survive a transfusion of O-positive or A-positive blood."

Ophelia nodded, more at the dubious tone of her colleague's statement than agreement. "I've requested a cross and match against Inkblood and a couple of other students. The black sludge we drew earlier oxidizes to a brown-green that a monkey wouldn't throw at you."

"What if it were a stone monkey? One of the Trustees might take something like that as a challenge."

"Let's not, if we can avoid doing that."

Several screens deep into the zoomantic display, they found telltale hints of nephritic mineralization. It would have been nice to avoid that topic and prognosis. The patient was already documented and verified as a manifestor.

"Taken in that context, the scans from radiology make more sense. Looks like the mineral replacement won't stay limited to the eyeball and eye socket."

"I'll leave a note for Powers Testing to look for MATD. Any signs of organ damage? Other than the obvious, he looks healthy. His hearts sounded good earlier."

"No signs of kidney, lung, spleen, or liver damage. Endocrine system's as normal as it could be. His circulatory system is carrying oxygen to spare, in both blood and lymph. That may have been the point of the tinkering done to him pre-implantation. Shall we go over the bad news in neurology?"

Tuesday afternoon,
Benjamin Keeling's room.

Benjamin whined at the lancing pain the overhead fluorescent lights etched into his eye. By instinct, he tried to curl up with his head under the hospital-issued pillow. They must have made the pillows deliberately short so that wouldn't work. Bastards. He settled for leaning it on his head because he was too tired to even think about trying again. Before he could go back to sleep, he heard low voices coming from the hall. Damn.

"Yeah, Doc. I definitely heard his 'I hate mornings' noise, and you can see him kittening."

Thank you, Max. Remind me to kill you later.

"Kittening?"

"Sure! Do you know how kittens will stick their heads under a blankie or something? If they can't see you, you can't see them? Just like that."

"Do I want to know how you usually wake him up?" Female voice. That had to be Dr. Tenent. Maybe she could turn her back long enough that he could roll over and die? He couldn't think clearly enough to spell 'scalpel', let alone manifest one. So unfair.

Benjamin barely caught Max's whisper. "Usually coffee. If he's super-cranky and whiny? Decaf, but don't tell him. Best thing is this drink his mother makes from rudraksha, passionflower, and skullcap. It's hard to get right, but Yuki's good at it. Oh, yeah, and add valerian and velvet bean if he's sort of twitching and can't sleep. Stinky stuff. I wonder if Naomi sent any with him or if it got confiscated along the way?"

"Mr. Livingston, would you mind keeping an eye on your roommate?"

"No problemo! That's what buds are for! Something come up?"

The pillow-muffled complaint could have been "Not so loud." On second thought, Max decided it must have been "Stick around."

The doctor asked, "Did anyone ever tell you that most severe stress is the result of overriding the reasonable desire to throttle the ever-living shit out of those who greatly deserve it?"

"Yeah, I get told that a lot. What did I do this time?"

"Not you. You get to live. I'll be back after I wring some necks, write new orders, and place some calls."

Later in the morning, Benjamin tentatively woke up to a new voice and face. Not unwelcome ones, but this wasn't the situation he wanted to be seen in. Perceptions matter!

"Well, this is new. They got you to stick around for evaluation. What are you actually in for?"

Benjamin opened his eyes. Peter wouldn't have believed he was asleep anyway, not with heartrate monitors hooked up. Electronic traitors everywhere.

"Depends. Are they charging tickets?"

"You kidding? It's a miracle they don't have to pay visitors to drop by this place. I figured something was up when you bailed on lunch. What happened, anyway?"

"Good question. One minute, they're casting a quote-unquote diagnostic spell. The next? I'm on the floor."

"That's two seizures in two days, isn't it." Not a question but a statement. Great. Multiple traitors on the loose. Couldn't people keep his disasters to themselves? Maybe arrange an escape burrow?

"Yeah. So now I'm stuck here so they can observe me staring at the walls."

"Been there, done that, outgrew the t-shirt."

That was so not the mental image a healthy guy needs when there's only a thin hospital gown and a sheet to cover with.

"How'd you hear I was stuck here?"

"Max, among others."

Among others?

Peter glared at the AIPA terminal the staff had let him put back on after leaving radiology.

"Yeah. I hadn't expected you to program that sort of contingency into your personal assistant gear — which that isn't."

"You mean 'which she isn't'."

"Grown that attached to the new gear already? Good thing I put so much goddamned work into the other."

"Colombine, could you please explain how I wasn't wasting his time?"

"What's in it for me?" asked the hard light avatar. This time, she rezzed in with electric purple hair, a denim jacket, and a black leather skirt that could have ratcheted up a film's MPAA rating all by itself. Peter's dropped jaw confirmed its effectiveness.

"Would you believe my continued survival?"

"Hm." As she perched on the hospital bed's bedrail, swinging a high-heeled shoe from the toes of one foot, Colombine was in the perfect position to watch both boys try to track each other's gaze without being caught out not focusing on her cleavage. "I suppose that will do. For now. Your mouth's been writing too many checks for what's left of your ass to cover."

Turning her attention to Peter, Colombine said, "Hiding a hardware emulation layer within the existing hardware of a commercial design, leaving the original transponders as fall-backs, all connected via a pseudo-entangled two-way encryption bus, is sneaky to the point of paranoia. However, it works well for routing anything that doesn't need to be carried along my own back-haul bandwidth. What may not impress you, compared to several buyers I could name, is how you've managed to harden the package against certain types of destructive interference."

Benjamin had his I'm-lost-please-help-me look going.

"I have no clue what she just said, but I think you've scored some brownie points?"

"Let's just say that the scope of the problem has more than a single dimension. As to the workaround, I cannot reveal my sources," Peter said.

Colombine rolled her eyes at human foolishness, not that there weren't subroutines of her own she didn't want to poke at.

"There's been a lot of that going around lately."

"Oh? First time on the crazy train? How does he rate you?"

Translation: Back off. Mine!

"Would you believe that Benjamin here was assigned to me as a corrupting influence?"

"No."

That came out a bit fast.

"How about 'some dicey shit happened, and he was the most convenient fall guy'?"

"That? That just about fits." Peter looked back to Benjamin to say, "You're still not off the hook."

"Huh? What? Why?"

Benjamin was pretty sure he was practically innocent! Except for certain things under investigation.

"I was under the impression that your medication was working. Now it's not? How's that not going to affect, um, your work?"

"It was! Just, some things all... coincided. Intersected?"

"And?"

When did Peter become so much of a cynic?

"And now I'm stuck here observing me being observed. And I wanna get out of here already."

"I believe the idea is to make attending classes the less painful option."

"They're classes. How much more painful can that be?"

"Welcome to Whateley Academy, young padawan. Make sure your insurance and medical contacts list are up-to-date before taking Basic Martial Arts, Powers Lab, and just about any practical course with devisors or mages enrolled. Some of the chem labs are literally in bunkers, the ranges are bunkers, one of which is almost in the next county and is under constant satellite surveillance."

"Oh, really?"

Colombine laughed.

"Forget I said any of that."

Colombine replied, "If you think that's going to happen, you need to work on knowing your partners better before committing."

"No, no, no. Let's get back to the place that rates satellite-based physical security!"

Peter groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Don't they keep sedatives somewhere around here?"

"For whom?"

"Everyone!"

"See, Cee? I think you've made a new friend!"

Dr. Brechtje Bombay's Office.

Ophelia Tenent stared into a pitch-black cup of coffee, waiting for her colleague to wrap up her review. Exemplar or not, if she downed a shot of whiskey every time someone around here pulled something colossally stupid, she'd need a liver transplant. A dime for each case would leave her modestly wealthy.

Dr. Bombay looked over her reading glasses and said, "I don't suppose you're here to inform me of a complete and miraculous recovery? It could happen."

"Don't I wish! I just found out that getting here meant that our patient went cold turkey off all the working anticonvulsants he'd been on for the past year or two. After he blacked out, someone made the call to push him some more instead of calling a trusted colleague with backup medications. All that nonsense, just to see if he might go rager before dropping him off on our doorstep. Why consult Medical over little things like PTSD, TBI, and general seizures?" Winding down, Ophelia said, "I'm sorry, Brechtje, but I had to get that off my chest. Do you have any good news for me?"

Dr. Bombay asked, "How was now such a good time to push the boy? Three years after manifesting? He's not even a Diedrick's Syndrome candidate."

"The excuse given was that he's been associated with violent criminal activities and could be dangerous."

"In other words, bullshit. He shut down instead of snapping."

Dr. Tenent nodded.

"The good news is that, barring a catastrophic burnout, our patient is unlikely to relive his original cranial injury."

"That's the good news?"

"If I were within line of sight of the lad when it happens, I'd consider 'less chunky salsa to scrape off the walls' very good news."

"I was hoping for something more traditional along the lines of diagnosis and treatment."

"My diagnosis is that the original injury avulsed the anterior sinistral quadrant of his skull, including frontal lobe tissue and an eye. The distribution of newer material is consistent with a detonated implant of highly illicit origin. My conjecture is that the object occupying the regenerated socket used to be much smaller. My greatest fear at the moment is that enough of what we've been scanning is manifested material that losing control of it could be catastrophic. His most recent concussion, four months ago, did him no favors. Would you believe that the attending physician attributed the injury to a slip-and-trip accident?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Where does that leave us?"

"Ophelia, I don't want to risk surgical methods until he's stable on his medications. Even electrode placement for neural stimulation would be risky. That assumes someone can manage to build something shielded well enough to survive this place. As to Miss Samuels's, er, neural inhibitor gadget... Please inform her advisors that the answer is no."

"We've already posted messages to that effect. What about magically-augmented healing?"

"Very well. Let's assume you can manage that without activating that exotic lump of jade. Are we sure we know what it really does or how it works? Then, we're back to the regenerator's problem, aren't we? Damaged neural tissue grows back blank. And so, the boy could end up losing learned behaviors or suffer impaired executive function. He's a teenager. That's mentally impaired enough. Worse, he might come to remember all the things he used to be able to do, without having gained anything to compensate."

"I suspect that Benjamin's hyperaware, somehow, that he wouldn't survive ocular repair and replacement. I definitely got the impression that, if provoked, he'll try to take an honor guard to Hell with him. Physical therapy?"

"Of course! Children need exercise. I'll send some information about traumatic brain injuries to the House Parent. That way, they'll know what to let him think he's getting away with. What worries me more is the school's unfortunate emphasis on those 'combat finals'. What if the school decides to pit him against a power suppressor? How much can magic and devises do for a student who suddenly loses, say, a baseball-sized chunk of his head? I've taken the liberty to inform the Headmaster that should the administration override professional medical opinion in this matter, there will be formal complaints and, if necessary, criminal charges filed. Please do not sign off on exceptions just because the jongens say they'll be careful. That even goes for that cute soldier in the green beret."

"A little bird told me the Range Four swear jar got a lot richer when your 'cute soldier' found out we'd sent an undermedicated student with both PTSD and a seizure disorder to his Range."

"Hm. Smart guy. Do you know if he's seeing anyone?"

Wednesday morning, January 11, 2017,
Crystal Hall Cafeteria.

Benjamin Keeling looked down at what passed for breakfast. After hospital food, any carbs and fats that didn't look ready to abandon the tray had to be better than what the doctors had ordered. Hash browns fried up with onions and doused in ketchup were good. That didn't hold a candle to stir-fried noodles or rendang chicken and rice. Maybe the problem was that the grub reminded him of the military academy he'd been shipped off to for grade school? Whateley reminded him of some of the things he somehow missed from that. He used to have friends back then, too. Neither place was home, though. Home was a resurgent piece of jungle in the old Ash-Bucket District. There must be something in the air making his eyes and nose so itchy... or something.

"Hey! Why didn't you ring me up when they cut you loose?" Max thunked his tray down, loaded with what looked like chicken spread out between two waffles covered in butter and syrup. Benjamin's stomach lurched at the thought of trying to get something like that down. "Don't judge! Americans have all the best breakfast foods! There's sausage and bacon that you don't have to cross-check against the John Doe obituaries and eggs and waffles. I'm not sure what this brown stuff is made of, but it's good on toast."

"You didn't recognize vegemite? How?"

"Nah. This is kind of different. Called marmot or something. One of the Commonwealth guys dared me to try it. Turns out it doesn't completely suck."

"If you say so." Benjamin let it drop lest his stomach weigh in with its opinion on the merits of eating a smear of rat-shit-colored paste. "Besides, they wouldn't even write my discharge orders until half an hour ago."

"What you got for classes?"

Finally! A safe topic. Thanks, Max.

"Peter told me yesterday that one of the phys. ed. instructors runs a Tai Chi Chuan practice going before breakfast. That's got to beat jogging."

"That's another cool thing about this place. There's a loop road you can jog without getting mugged!"

"Max? When have you ever been mugged while jogging? If so, why am I only hearing about this now?"

"It's been a while. They weren't very good at it." Max pointed at his roommate's tensed right hand, "So, you can ditch the knife. Is this Tai Chi class all you're going to be taking? Sounds boring."

"Nah. I've got remedial English I because I'm playing catch up with the other freshmen. Then right after too-early lunch, I've got a teaching assistant gig for "Theory and Practice of the Escape". Then I get a break for when that runs over before late afternoon Algebra I, dinner, and Intro to Psychic Disciplinary Actions. My last school didn't start the day so freaking late, either. Seven-thirty muster, eight o'clock: classes, three each, three more after lunch. It left time to do plenty of things before the sun went down."

"Sounds familiar. My intro to the Ranges class runs nine to eleven and even I don't need to eat again after two hours. But I have Intensive Japanese after lunch. I couldn't even get into Intro to Choreography until four to six in the afternoon!"

"Why. Japanese." Benjamin had to remind himself who he was talking to. Unclenching his jaw might help, too.

Max said, "Dude! The Occupation was seventy-plus years ago! Times have changed, and this Super-Dance-Party needs to change with them. It's a great way to expand my fan base."

"Your history class didn't cover the Occupation?"

"No. And you know why," Max said. Truth to tell, and it wasn't Benjamin's truth to tell, Max wasn't as old as his paperwork claimed. "How bad was it? I mean, I know it was a horror show, but I bet you've heard things they don't put into the class notes."

Benjamin had been exposed to some of the accounts first-hand. If Emperor Hirohito did know about the occupation of The Kapalas' tiny atoll, he might not have known what was done in his name. Otherwise, that's one of Japan's dark secrets that honor requires one to take to the grave with oneself. Just remembering that fraction he knew about made Benjamin's blood run ice-cold.

"I know that too many fruit trees were chopped down for construction. Whatever survived bulldozing wasn't enough to feed the forces sent in and the population. That wasn't by accident. Not by a long shot. People did what they had to just to survive. That wasn't even the worst of it."

Not the worst at all.

Breathe. Focus on the real.

"I know that things like that happen out there. I don't like thinking too much about it."

Spirits had much to teach, when they chose to. However, the learning often came at the price of reliving their experiences. Visitation nightmares were some of the worst.

The two roommates sat quietly as one stared through the table, floor, and bedrock at things he'd never live to forget. The other decided that he didn't want to know anything that badly. Max waited until Benjamin's unsteady focus returned to the here and now.

"Do you want me to take a different class?" Max asked. "We're only a couple of days in; I can do that."

"When's the show in Japan scheduled?"

There was no bitterness or accusation behind the question. If anything, Benjamin's acceptance of the fact that Max was already committed made him feel more guilty than if the guy had bitched him out.

Max blew out a breath, "We're looking for a summer date, maybe July. My agent's working out permits and visas. Of course, you're included, so try to be in a country with modern air service for a change."

"Let's split the difference and kick the decision down the road a bit."

Maybe someone, anyone, could convince Fuji-sama to erupt before then? They wouldn't let his aircraft fly through volcanic ash, would they?

1^st Period, Freshman English, Kane Hall.

Benjamin had a short walk from Crystal Hall to the attached Kane Hall for the first class of the day. Unfortunately for his composure, he couldn't keep from dwelling on how long it had been since he'd seen the inside of a school. Actually, the building and classroom were nice and warm. They smelled like buffed floor wax and cooped-up winter clothes, not like the memories he knew he had to avoid. Sometimes the lessons that didn't get taught in schoolrooms were the hardest to forget.

He wasn't the first to arrive for the remedial English class. One of the other Twain guys – "Donut" or something like that – was trying to scrub "English for Idiots" off the chalkboard. The eraser in his hand wasn't doing it for him.

Maybe the lettering only looked like chalk? This place was supposed to be crawling with all sorts of walking, talking power sets. Too early in the morning to figure out how that worked out.

"Mind if I give it a shot?" Benjamin asked.

"Go right ahead. I haven't had no luck so far."

Oh, that wasn't suspicious at all.

Benjamin concentrated on the look and feel of iron filings, the chilling rusty smell of old iron. He shouldn't need much, just enough to cover an eraser. He rubbed the coarse powder in, then applied it to the chalkboard. Oops. The scraping of metal bits on slate hurt his ears more than the grit hurt the board, but it worked well enough to remove the graffiti.

"How'd you do that?" the pink-eyed guy asked.

"Magic would be the most effective way to drive people nuts trying to erase their crap. I've heard that magic and iron don't play well together."

"What would you have done if that hadn't worked?"

Benjamin shrugged. "Maybe paint a stripper?"

"You keep that on you too? Waitaminnit. What did you really say?"

"I'm a manifestor, not Batman."

"I'm Daniel Diggins, Mr. Not-batman. Folks here usually just call me Donut."

Benjamin shook the offered hand. "Benjamin Xiáng Keeling. Or, Belfry. Or, the new guy in Shaggy's wing."

Fellow Twain-wreck or not, pink eyes narrowed in suspicion. "As in 'bats in the belfry'? Are you having me on?"

"My best friend calls himself 'Super-Dance-Party'. If that's okay for him, no one gets to complain about me. Are the seats assigned?"

Daniel shook his head. "Not that I know of. Isn't that more of a grade school thing?"

Benjamin shrugged. How would he know? He dropped a notepad and pen on one of the desks to the far left of the room. Scanning the room's layout, with a second doorway toward the back, he relocated to a desk at the back. Other students drifted in. Some acted like they knew Daniel... Donut, that is. It was kind of funny watching which ones gave Donut "their order" and which ones still had no idea what was going on. Then there was another category: Students Not To Piss Off.

The latest arrival's white and red grease-painted head sported tufts of curly green hair. Blackened lips, along with penciled-in eyebrows and tear marks, added to the insanity. Except... that wasn't greasepaint. Benjamin knew that much from handling his own makeup. The shape of the guy's actual lips, protruding eyes, and furrowed brow belonged to someone permanently pissed off. Daniel rushed up to hand something to Sad Hulk.

"What the hell are you looking at?"

"Seeing why Daniel gets called Donut."

"Sure. What are you going to do about it? Why aren't you sitting over with the rest of us guys?"

"Because I'd prefer to pass this class."

"You saying we're stupid?"

"Nooooo. What I'm saying is," Benjamin stared the clown-faced boy directly in the eye right as he missed tapping his own eyeball with a fingernail, "Hang on."

He manifested a makeup mirror in his left hand, then successfully tapped dead center of the left eye with his right index finger. "This one's no good". Best to ignore the sounds of a chair scraping the floor and rapidly-retreating footsteps.

"I guess it's just a lot easier to see the blackboard with my good eye." No one noticed he didn't have to put away the mirror.

"Good going, Pete. Pick on the cripple, why dontcha?" drawled one of the other boys.

Benjamin's smile turned lopsided. "I'm not crippled. I still have a working eye."

Pete sighed like wind being spilled from his sails. "Sorry. It's just been kind of rough this year. Pete Foley, or Humorless, whichever."

"And for the one or two of you joining us late, I'm Ms. Barnes, your English teacher and tutor for this Term's self-paced course."

That led to a scramble for last orders and seats. Benjamin hoped she'd be more of a stickler for punctuality than penmanship. Just one more of many things he was out of practice on.

"Mr. Keeling, if you would introduce yourself?"

Benjamin kept an eye on Ms. Barnes as he scrambled to his feet. Kids were supposed to stand up for introductions. Or, was that only for cadets? She didn't motion him to stay seated, so this could be okay?

"Sorry. Right. Like I told Daniel, my name's Benjamin Xiáng Keeling. Code name's Belfry, and I'm from Kap-Town."

"Cape Town?"

"Geen, that's in Saffa." Benjamin shook his head as if to knock it past a skipping track. "Kapalangpur Territory, Kapala Town, Bukit Asing district. The vacation brochures say I live in a volcanic island paradise, somewhere you've never heard of, in the South China Sea."

"Thank you. Be sure to pick up a copy of the syllabus before you leave." Benjamin sat back down. Ms. Barnes continued, "Yesterday, we discussed the use of juxtaposition to develop characterization in relationship to other characters. Also, we talked about motif and theme. Who can name and describe at least one of the themes from the assigned reading?"

After class, yet another Student Too Dangerous To Piss Off stalked across the room before he could escape. Stupid desk. This one was on Yuki's don't-fuck-with-the-powerkegs list. And it was genuinely odd that she was carrying stapled papers in her hand. Few people ever moved from their true center, yet she lightly padded across his attention like a huntress.

"You looked ready to leave without the class syllabus."

"Huh? Oh, er, right! Thanks, um...?"

"Thulia Firedrake. I should be going too if I'm to be on time for my appointment. See you around!"

"Likewise, I'm sure!"

"Are you sure she's your type?"

Benjamin said, half to himself, "I don't think so, Cee. Where's lunch from here? Left, right, or through the nearest window?"

"Now that your heart rate's down to mild panic, through the door, right, down the stairs, then right again."

Too early lunch,
Crystal Hall Cafeteria.

Independent characters, themes, and dependent clauses were still rattling around in Benjamin's head when his roommate walked up to the table. Left alone much longer, he might have tried applying a textual analysis to his American ketchup and chips. Maybe not. The burger was excellent: medium-rare, lean, Angus? A hearty slice of tomato and a dollop of Vidalia onion relish topped it off nicely. He could always dip it in his for-fries ketchup if needed.

Max called out, "Hey! Don't you want to sit with the rest of the guys?"

"Huh? There's assigned tables for lunch too?"

"The middle and upper tiers. Here, on the ground floor, think of it as different crews with their own turf. Some get along, some don't. Some folks can get away with crossing the lines, some not so much."

"You noticed something like that?"

Max shrugged. "Nah. None of that's a problem. But most of the other Choo-Choo Twains refuel over there. You can have company while you brood."

"I do not brood!"

"You were brooding over your lunch right now."

"Contemplating."

"Totally brooding. Guys! Listen up." Honestly, Max didn't need to get everyone's attention. Or anyone's. "This is my friend from back home, now my new roommate, Ben-ja-min Keeling."

Benjamin forced a tight smile as he crossed his arms and ground out, "I don't make fun of your name."

"That's because Maximillion's such an awesome name. I have to cut back on it so no one's blinded by the coolness! Anyhoo, there were some issues with his nonexistent transcripts, and then the faculty had a cow over this and that, and he gets cranky about the other thing, and then last night he was held overnight at Doyle."

"I'm standing right here."

Max added, because it really was funny, "And definitely NOT at the Ranges, the dojo, legal casinos, the race track, or the Arenas - not counting the stands."

"Thank you ever so much, Max." Benjamin set his tray down to the left of one of the other Twain freshmen. "Do we need to tell everyone how you got banned from that onsen in Osaka?" he asked sweetly.

"Nope! I like to think of that as our own special us time."

Benjamin was sure he'd just been scored on, but it wasn't the worst way to describe the situation, no matter how much Colombine laughed in his earpiece. The best part of the whole social-ness was when Taka Ono came over to ask how his ear piercing was healing. And, was that a normal color for healing?

"It's only been a couple of months, but it's been going great," Benjamin said. He manifested a small mirror to check. "Yeah, I see a little blood. You're not supposed to take the bar out this early, but it wasn't worth arguing with the radiologist yesterday."

Stunned concern radiated from the seat across from him.

"What?"

"You." Max paused to give his brain time to catch up. "You got an ear piercing?"

Taka did the manly thing and backed away slowly from the situation.

"I told you I had my birthday all sorted back in November."

"In your ear."

"That is where they go, Max."

Benjamin envied the Japanese student's ability to predict and avoid hugs.

"Awesome! My buddy's finally joining the human race like a normal person!"

From one of the nearby tables, a quieter voice said, "And you people wondered why I had to change roommates so soon?"

Meanwhile, at another nearby table.

Becky, Cam, Rex, Derecha (everyone had long since given up on calling her "Philippa"), Trina, and Peter had what could be called a "problem". It wasn't bad enough to be among the last picks for Whateley Academy's substitute for dodgeball or that their "trainer", Mr. Alfred D. Shane, wasn't the pick of the litter. No. The school's training program had collectively managed to forget canceling half of the team's third Thursday training sessions last term.

When everyone had finished as much lunch as they were hungry for, Rex scooted his chair back.

"Okay. Peter had warned me about having a late combat pistol class, but how does that bump us to eight at night?"

Becky spoke up.

"Team Tactics always has the first runs of the morning. This time out, I hear they're running a second tactics course at four o'clock to help out a freshman team. Mutant Mayhem something or other, the kids who put Gouyasse in the hospital?"

"That makes sense. The Capes, Grunts, Team Phoenix, Faction 3's Monster Squad, and even the Berets would have dibs on any afternoon times before that. Damn."

Derecha looked up from her phone. Everyone expected her to say something, even when she didn't have much to say.

"Enough of us had costuming class last year, so breaking out a tape gets us measurements to send in. Also, there's still that app for loading our power set stats to the simulator team. We could touch up the numbers and be done tomorrow."

"We're still short the beginner runs," Peter said. "But I'll ask around the Workshop to see how comms and online contacts are handled."

"From what I hear, everything is isolated and emulated. Double-check anyway."

Rex looked around.

"Trina, Cam?"

Cam nodded to Trina, "Ladies first."

"I'll ask one of the teachers or TAs for help describing my spells. With so many others who have familiars and summoning spells, there's sure to be an efficient way of going about this."

"Gear should be easy," Cam said. "They check in what we bring at the door, even vehicles. Pete's got his drone project. If they let me duplicate one of my dirtbikes, Trina can ride with me or Pete."

"I can manage a dirtbike. I usually take a quad or a snowmobile when I go hunting."

What?

"We have woods and trails in New York too."

Cam caught Peter's distracted gaze off into gadgeteer space.

"Pete?"

"Speaking of TAs, do we need an instructor, or can anyone certified for virtual reality sign off for us?"

"Once we have the suits and details in? I don't know. It can't be too hard if they let Mr. Shane sign his name in ink."

Peter's cell phone pinged with a new message alert. It must've been an Important alert, since his notifications had been turned OFF.

"Okay, Crash. Spill."

"As soon as we're 'go', I've got a couple of VR jockeys I can call. No, make that three. There's no way my class advisor can't do it if she has time."

Rex smiled at the only good news to be had here.

"Then we're good! Except for maybe you and Derecha."

"Why us?"

"Paranormal Law? Law enforcement?"

"Rex?" Derecha said, "The big print giveth. But that small print's a real bitch. That's why you're backing up Crash and me on the required reading."

"But I didn't..."

"Refuse fast enough? Exactly."

Barely Wednesday afternoon,
Theory and Practice of the Escape, The (Official) Imp Lair^™ (patent pending).

Half an hour before class, Benjamin excused himself from lunchtime socializing to tackle the tunnels. For one thing, he had to take his meds. He also had to get to his teaching assistant job. And like any other job, he actually did want to scope things out sooner than later. His head could recover from morning academic gymnastics later. He hoped his stomach would have more success with the cold burger and fries he finally got to choke down between introductions and social make-nice stuff.

However, nothing in the course description, with all the circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each page, mentioned a little girl maybe half his age. Mentions of his missions and the Fate of the Free World in the same breath always meant that people were unhappy with him again. Benjamin guessed that the distracted whirlwind who'd been dithering between running late on class preparations, leaving her pint-sized terror unsupervised, or both, meant "Stay here. Busy. Back soon."

She will be back, right?

"Susan Moira Chambers?" Benjamin asked, hoping to confirm that he'd gotten that much right.

"Momma only uses my full name when she's having a bad day. Everyone else calls me Karma."

"I'll have to be careful with my Dogma, then, won't I?" Benjamin risked a sip of barely cooled coffee. Either it was dissolving the styrofoam already, or his new medication wasn't up to its job.

"I've heard that one a million billion times already. Do you have a stage name?"

The freshman was still sniffing at the dubious brew. "Name? Singular? Someone thinks small."

"I'm not that small!"

"Didn't say you were. Pinkie swear." Thank you, Max. Benjamin added because she did ask nicely enough, "For this gig, I'm going by Belfry. How about that?"

"Do you like bats or something?"

"Or something."

What the bleeding hell does a sixteen-year-old have in common with a grade-school kid? Is that something they covered in seventh and eighth grades?

In unison, the two sighed, "I'm bored."

"Your Momma's got to have some fun toys..."

Karma shook her head. "Nope. Not here, and she says I'm too young to play with them."

I so did not need to know that.

Under his breath, Benjamin said, "Not a word, Luv."

"Who, me?" returned Colombine.

Benjamin bit his lip. "I, er, I meant for class."

"Sure. Miss Laura turned the same color when I told her the same thing."

"Your Miss Laura sounds like a reasonable sort. Nah. You see, when I agreed to be an assistant, I figured my time would mostly be spent in shackles or handcuffs, or the like."

Karma's eyes sparkled with the seeds of an Idea!

Morgana Jones wasn't entirely convinced that taking The Imp's class was a good idea. She knew the Cult of the Red Ba'al might still have operatives or even competitors out to get their grubby hands on her. Cults like that bred like roaches. Like roaches, they tried to grab whatever some other roach considered tasty. Doc Bellows, Mrs. Dennon, and others had explained to her that no, you couldn't just burn your way out of everything. Not even dragons could! So, having a non-magic solution available was a very useful backup plan. Her issues with the class itself lay in this being a hands-on course, and – wouldn't you know it – PTSD doesn't go away after an inspiring training montage or two. But Doc Bellows had assured her that dealing with being trapped in a controlled environment would help her with PTSD as well, so she'd ended up enrolling. Her friend, Laura Samuels, was taking the course partly as emotional support and partly in her own self-defense, given the kids she babysat. Neither young woman was ready for what they heard through the door that had been left ajar.

A familiar little girl's voice sweetly sang out, "What do I do with the oil on your hands?"

The answering voice was a male's low tenor. "... Get the shaft well-greased, then ease it in gently: we don't want to get stuck this far along. Feel the hard part? Maneuvering from this position can be tricky, so keep just enough friction to be sure everything else stays right where it belongs. As soon as you're ready, shove it in and twist."

That was all anyone needed to hear!

Laura charged in, shouting. "Hold it right there, you perverted son of a bitch!"

While Laura's "ray gun" might be non-lethal, the yellow-hot-and-climbing temperature of Morgana's fists wasn't. "Let the girl go, and there MIGHT be enough left for the Medical Examiner ... oh."

Karma dropped her picks in shock, and she never, ever, did that! But Miss Morgana could be so scary when she was upset!

The tow-headed student she'd been working with had been called far worse with far more conviction. He looked back over his shoulder to ask, "Class time already? Give me a moment, will you?" He removed the handcuffs far too quickly for the would-be heroes' comfort.

Karma, on the other hand? "Oooh, that was way cool! Wait." She scowled, "That was too easy! You didn't tell me there's a trick to this set!"

The young man shook a finger at the outburst of disappointment. "If you'd done your homework, you might have known ahead of time that some Indonesian police departments use this model. Now, where was I, ladies?" Belfry palmed the cuffs.

"They aren't ladies!"

Out of the mouths of babes?

"This is Miss Laura," That would be the blue-skinned girl. Huh. "And this is her friend, Miss Morgana!" The literal hothead. From the build and the horns, he wouldn't have guessed she was from around here. What a weird place.

"I could commend the two of you for leaping to the defense of my daughter's innocence. But, if you're going to conduct a rescue, stopping short in the doorway isn't the best tactic." Imp's tone was cool, but her tail flicked left and right with hidden amusement.

"Oh, sorry! Let me help you with that, mum." Benjamin briskly walked over, staying out of Morgana's immediate reach.

"That would be more helpful than tutoring my daughter on today's extra credit assignment. Where did you come across that model anyway?"

"It so happens that Guardian RTC licenses the design."

"That was not an answer to my question. I see a future in politics ahead of you."

"Isn't it a wee bit early for curses?"

The less-excitable students wandered in with the usual after-lunch aplomb. The reactions to the new TA bustling around, as exeryone else took their seats and caught up on gossip, were more telling.

Bianca St. Claire, Abigail Van Helsing, and Luna Wright sized Benjamin up like a potential threat before taking their seats. Expected. Saumer's double-take was almost comedic. Imp tsked at him when he tried to ditch his front-row seat for something further back. On the other hand, Hannah Sammish was all but drooling over something going on behind or around Benjamin. Weird, but he knew better than to turn around. Kent Holloway guiltily shifted his book bag with all the finesse of, well, someone having something he'd rather the rest of the class not notice.

Once all were settled in, Imp announced the obvious.

"Good afternoon! The more attentive of you may have noticed that our teaching assistant has finally arrived. Benjamin?"

"Ah, thank you. As you've heard, I'm Benjamin Keeling, Belfry to the civilians." That last part was directed toward Saumer. "And, I'm here at the convenience of Her Majesty's Government. I have experience in community policing, and can speak to other Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape topics as needed."

Luna spoke up on behalf of the class.

"So, you got good at passing out parking tickets. And?"

"I haven't gotten my turn at directing traffic yet. That could be fun." Benjamin smiled a loopier smile, saying, "And, I still have a spotless driving record or two."

Imp asked, as if it were news to her, "Benjamin, whose spotless driving record are we talking about, precisely?"

Benjamin dug into a pocket, producing some terribly familiar objects.

"Kent Holloway, Bianca St. Claire, or Ayelen Winona," Benjamin drawled, handing the ID cards over to the teacher. "Maybe Kent. I think I've got the makeup to match his skin tone. Maybe a little more rouge, if anything."

"Any further questions regarding my assistant's qualifications?"

Having teaching minions around made after-class cleanup so much easier! Benjamin could put things away while The Fabulous Imp had a word with her Karma. Today was a good one for reminding the girl there would be times she might need to hear what's said but not repeat a word of it. "Cross your heart AND pinky swear." That settled, Imp waved Benjamin over.

"Yes, mum?"

Imp suppressed a wince at the boy's vague accent. From what she'd read, the local quack house had gotten a hell of a show yesterday.

She asked, "I was wondering if you've thought about trying out for some of the school's clubs? Some still run through the Winter Term."

"That's what my roommate says, Miss Imp, but I don't think my figure's cut out for Venus, Incorporated."

She'd asked for that, hadn't she?.

"What makes you say that? You might not have all the natural advantages I have, but maybe you clean up better than you think."

Benjamin said, "I prefer being behind the cameras and saving the makeup tricks for better, maybe more professional audiences."

"I understand. Not all of us can be fabulous!" Imp tapped her ear. Benjamin nodded and started his sweep.

"Too true. But from what I've heard, the FSHA and Intelligence Corps of Cadets might be asking for a photoshoot or two."

"Oh? That's... fast."

"Helping them stake out a book club might be amusing." Benjamin's focus faltered for a couple of seconds, probably taking a message from his Actively Interesting personal assistant. "Some people think I deserve a dose of my own medicine."

"Just remember that they're still kids. Can't live with 'em, can't stuff 'em in a barrel until they're eighteen."

"Hey!" piped up one of the many kids they could have been talking about.

Benjamin winked at Susan Moira and said, "It could be educational." He dumped the more obvious electronic vermin into a tip jar on the teacher's desk. Then he shooed Imp and Karma outside. He could choke down the effect if he hadn't had a seizure in recent days. Today wasn't one of those days. Eine kleine multisensory hell made the magic blue smoke escape from formerly hidden pieces.

When he was through with his part of the sweep, Benjamin motioned Imp and Karma back into the classroom.

"Cee says she's not picking up any retransmits now." Back on topic, he said, "The Bad Seeds are a no-go. My birth ticket parents are monsters, not villains."

Karma's eyes widened at the "m-word", but she stayed quiet. She knew Momma didn't like that word, but Momma stayed quiet about it. Too quiet. That must be one of those things she'll get to know about When She Gets Older.

Benjamin continued, "I was thinking that Cutler should check back in with Patience."

"Ohhh!" He does have more than one stage name!

"What did I tell you earlier?" asked Momma Imp.

"That some things aren't for the rubes to know even if I like them?"

"Especially if you like them," Benjamin agreed.

Imp asked Benjamin, "What do you know about the Masterminds' current roster?"

Benjamin's, a.k.a. Cutler's, demeanor shifted subtly. He resembled his own dossier more exactly. Older, more professional.

"Fourth and Fifth-A concerns aside, do these people have any idea what reputations they're building?"

"What makes you say that?"

"You're known by the company you keep as much as by your work. That's just how the business goes. They've got a fortune-teller: did they know what Guzman was up to? If so, they're complicit. If not, one or more of them are being set up for a perp walk. The mentalist has a good game going. My back would be itching the entire time on the job with her. They have muscle to spare, but that's what contractors are for." Cutler shook his head. "Ever just look at a group picture and say to yourself, E-I-E-I-Don't-Think-So?"

"They have had success," mused Imp, "on jobs you would have struggled with."

"I've no doubt of that. I and my team got off to a very rough start. But on the upside, that also meant we could refuse jobs that we had no business taking. In their position, I can't honestly say I wouldn't be tempted to overreach. I have and likely will again. Sad, huh?"

"Would you be able to work with them? Every play needs an understudy or two."

Cutler crossed his arms and stared at ceiling tiles. Sooner or later, he'd have to swallow whatever pride he had left.

"Two generalized seizures this week means that, until my doctors give me the green light, there's a lot I can't take on. Life sucks, and then you're its bitch."

With a mental shift and a shrug, Benjamin said, "Heh. Let me know if there's anything I need to prep for tomorrow or Friday's class."

Imp thought about that.

"Is there any chance that trick with the ropes can be replicated without manifesting the oil?"

"It works best with nylon or polypro. The trick would be placing the packet where it could stay unseen until retrieved, then opening it. Socks and waistbands are checked for drugs. Rig something in a jacket; you have to be careful with dry cleaning. Maybe inside the lining of the jacket sleeve cuffs? The buttons should throw off a rushed pat-down, and the cuff's already somewhat stiffened."

Momma had made her promise to be quiet, but Karma couldn't help giggling just a little bit. That was okay, wasn't it? Watching Benjamin/Belfry/Cutler miming the various parts of a pat-down and what he could reach with his hands tied was almost as good as a cartoon. Some of those moves weren't even in her coloring books! Oh, yeah...

After Benjamin was good and gone, Karma asked, "Momma? What was the right answer to your question?"

"Which one? Oh! Looks like it's that time again!"

"Wheel of Morality, turn, turn, turn! Tell us the lesson what we should learn! But what about that job?"

"The right answer was knowing it couldn't work out. Now, I owe Patience five bucks."

"Why?"

"Well, first of all, he is a boy, which makes him prone to trying dangerous stunts just to prove he can. Second, he's known in the biz as a loose cannon. I figured that he might sign on for the challenge and immediately lock horns with the club's leaders."

"And that's bad?"

"Very. But... I can't imagine who else would try to get one over on the person put in charge of their own well-being. Can you?"

Karma gulped, "No, Momma."

Wednesday evening,
Intro to Psychic Disciplines, Kirby Hall.

From where Benjamin was sitting, Zoe Chibany-Nesmith had the body and moves of an international celebrity. Considering what else her tailored tweeds concealed, it wouldn't pay to underestimate the woman. Teaching a psychic arts class meant there was more to her than a boosted IQ and powerlifting. There, too, was something in the way she scanned her environment that was maddeningly familiar. Maybe it had just been too long a day?

"At least Keeling is interacting in his own way," Zoe reassured herself. There weren't enough students in this class to get away with ignoring him. His perception-altering tricks felt familiar! Whoever she was reminded of, she'd probably remember the name half an hour after trying to get to sleep tonight.

Anneliese Effingham leaned forward and stage-whispered in Benjamin's ear, "At least pretend to be drooling over the Exemplar blondie."

Benjamin leaned back to say, "Remind me to introduce you to the Clarke Quay and Koh Phi Phi nightlife. Then we'll see who's drooling."

"Better than Amsterdam?"

"'A little flesh, a little history,'" he quoted.

That was way too close to the Poe Secret for two non-Poesies. Strike one? It could be coincidence.

Zoe made a distraction out of shuffling through copies of the syllabus, reading list, supply list, etc. It wouldn't have hurt for the boy to show up for class earlier in the week!

"What was that, Mr. Keeling? From what my partner told me about you, I would have thought you'd be more partial to Dar es Salaam's nightlife!"

Huh? Partner? Chibany! Benjamin asked, "Red-ringed eyes, wicked dry sense of humor, likes mango pepper chutney with her grilled changu?"

"And a soft spot for rescuing underaged policemen? That would be her, yes." Handing over the materials Belfry had missed, Ms. Nesmith went on. "She would not be happy to hear you'd been injured again just because you slacked off in this class."

"Then I'll have to avoid disappointing. It was a pleasure to meet and work with her, after all."

Someone was happy to work with Semi? Her Semi? That hadn't happened in a long time!

Ms. Nesmith went back to the front of the classroom to retrieve a small jar filled with loose change. Holding it out to Benjamin, she said, "Pick a penny, any penny. That's the first step of your first homework assignment. Friday after next, you'll all be turning your pennies in. The following Monday, you simply have to find yours among all the other coins in the jar."

"What guarantee is there that the coins will still be in the jar that Monday?"

"None. A false positive is as wrong as a false negative."

Benjamin looked down at the copper-clad penny, struck in 1998 at the Denver Mint, with a scratch starting along Lincoln's nose.

"Are there any other rules to the exercise?"

"If you can come up with a completely new way to cheat on this exercise, I will be impressed. Dr. Chase, who I'm substituting for, tells me that last term's students came close. Close doesn't count."

Except in horseshoes and tactical nuclear weapons.

Since no one else was saying anything, he asked Ms. Nesmith, "What's the object of the lesson?"

"In mathematics, you'll find that two measures may be different but not significantly different. Likewise, two instances might share all significant traits without being identical. Or, while they may be superficially identical, they don't share an identity. There may even be a pair such that while their own before/after states are not identical, they are identical in difference to their paired after/before states. You'll find that pennies, penny arcades, particles, and people are quite alike in that regard."

One of the other guys in the class groused, "You just had to ask, didn't you."

To be fair, Zoe may have leaned too far into the mathematical analogy.

'The Tao that can be trodden is not the enduring and unchanging Tao. The name that can be named is not the enduring and unchanging name.'

Zoe shook her head, remembering someone else with a penchant for quoting Lao Tzu. "Mister Keeling. I'm already tempted to invite an alumna back to speak in excruciating depth on the distinctions between qi and psi. Are you ready to make that a certainty?"

"We shall see, won't we?"

"Be careful what you ask for," Zoe said. "Yesterday, we touched on getting to know a thing as if it were an integral part of you. However, how well do you know yourself? When you listen, are the thoughts you hear your thoughts? You're surrounded every day by people. Some of those people are trying to change what you think, believe, and feel — literally. How can a person who may have been affected know for sure?

Myra gave the others time to think of an answer on their own. She was only auditing the course so she could better deal with her own students, and wouldn't always be here to bail these kids out. Or bail the young instructor out! She finally asked, "If you know what you think and feel when you are not being influenced, can't you compare your current thoughts and feelings to that?"

Benjamin looked back to her, "What if that baseline has changed? Reversion to an altered save point is still a change."

Something like that. Peter had tried explaining his favorite map-and-puzzle games, but some of the points remained as clear as mud.

"Therefore," Ms. Nesmith said, "What we need is something that can be done as part of a daily routine. In this case, meditation. Mindfulness, movement-based, and progressive relaxation practices are commonly used to examine unconscious thought patterns as well as one's own health. Also, focused meditation and visualization may be used to strengthen one's concentration. There are drawbacks for us with these and other types. Myra, can you suggest one or two of them?"

Myra asked, "Would spiritual meditation risk drawing the attention of spirits that aren't what they claim to be? Or maybe they are, but their motives might be murky?"

"That can and does happen. The campus has top-notch magical protections, but some nasties do make it through. They don't limit their victims to magicians, either. Any other problems come to mind?"

"You mentioned visualization meditation." Myra said, "I can only imagine that whatever you envision after watching a horror movie, it might not be something you want sticking around."

"That's correct. With a projective empath or telepath, it could be something no one else wants in their head. The situation gets worse if the person meditating is a magician, a manifester, a warper, a devisor, psychic, and/or mentally ill." Let's give the students pretending to be caught up on their reading a shot. "Serenella? What other risks can you see with one of the types of meditation mentioned in today's readings?"

Annaliese asked, "What about all that nonsense about rock-and-roll causing teen suicides and video games creating school shooters? Does it matter to mantra meditation if the repetitive sound is something darker than just 'Om'?"

She heard Benjamin mumble, "You never want to find out."

Mary on a cross, she didn't! Nonetheless, her telepathy latched onto the thoughts behind unguarded words.

Zoe caught the psychic feedback of Serenella's telepathy hitting a third rail in Belfry's broken head. Here we go again. Damage control now, analysis later. Hold the class's attention. She'd not only studied Freya, the Ice Cold Bitch of Alphas Past, but she had an expert on making people ignore trouble right in front of her.

"Technically speaking, Tipper Gore was an idiot. Listening to Brass Monkey or Me First! might count as cruel and unusual punishment, but no more dangerous than 'The Kids Are Alright' or 'No More Tears'. Conversely, I'm told that Blues music can be a comfort to people struggling through life. It helps to know that someone out there has been hurt just as much as you have, and you are not alone in this. That said, mantras are meant to embed themselves into memory and inform future action. Some work better than others, depending on the person. Despite its efficacy in beating insomnia, we will skip over progressive relaxation meditation because the verbal form is similar to hypnotic induction. Remember all those times your parents told you that you are what you eat? I am telling you that you can literally become what you think. Falling off your mental diet can have worse consequences than gaining a few pounds over the holidays. Let's take a ten-minute break while you digest that."

Today's trainwreck twitched back to consciousness, "Huh?"

"Benjamin, I just told the class you all are on a ten-minute break. Maybe you should go splash some water on your face to help you wake up?"

"Er, yeah. I could do that."

That left Serenella and Moonbrook. Myra already had an arm around the shaken and sweating girl.

Zoe knelt down in front of Annaliese. "I am going to strongly suggest that you talk to someone tonight. Don't worry about curfew. They'll work it out with Mrs. Savage."

Myra added, "If you can't get an appointment, my door is always open. The others will understand." She looked at the closed door for a moment before saying, "I'd say that goes for Benjamin too, but I get the impression he already works with professionals."

That got a weak laugh from Annaliese.

"Can't imagine why."

Knowing why is bad enough.

Zoe softened her voice. "Welcome to the crash course in why we work so hard at hammering a code of psychic ethics into each student's head, and push every exercise in shielding we can get them to do."

From just outside of easy reach, they heard, "Speaking of exercises, that Jedi voice trick was a bit heavy-handed just now, don't you think?"

Zoe didn't jump. Given the odd skill sets her paragon trait just picked back up, she had a good idea that Keeling was already back. It was as if the trick to finding him was not to search for him. Maybe talking to Chou Li sooner than later would be a good idea?

"Benjamin. I wasn't expecting you back so soon."

"It happens. My fault for forgetting her telepathy is voice-activated. Before the peanut gallery returns, I wanted to mention that there are people on campus who would kill a person, or do their level best to co-opt them, to keep their secrets exactly that."

"Are you saying that she's dealing with one of them?"

"I can't say." At the teachers' questioning looks, he added, "No, really. For some cases, I cannot speak to the subject. I'm supposed to see Dr. Delacroix tomorrow, so I'd recommend Annaliese see her ASAP. I should be going now, shouldn't I?"

"Yes."

One could only hope that he left the room for real this time.

Annaliese sniffed, then dabbed her eyes, trying to get herself together before everyone else returned. The class was too small, and, unlike the crazier kid, she was too big to hide. "Am I the only one who thinks that all that sounded better in his head?"

Probably so, but he did volunteer to walk her over to Doyle Medical "in case they missed him".

The Tunnels, Whateley Academy

Colombine and Benjamin had a quiet quarter hour to themselves in the school's tunnel system. The passageways closest to Doyle Medical Center weren't popular hangouts. Imagine that! Finally, Benjamin grumbled to himself, "That went well."

Colombine weighed in over his earphones. "Not that any of us mind, but you're still alive after escorting Miss Effingham to Doyle. Also, your doctor was willing to see her on no notice. Why did you accompany her, and why did she allow that?"

"It's like falling off a horse or having a job go sidewise. Your fault, her fault, nobody's fault — doesn't matter. You have to get back on, or you'll never find the guts to do it later. The horse sees you not taking a chance on her and blames herself. That makes the ride harder for the next cowboy. Save a horse, ride a cowboy."

"In that case, I'd say you've made a productive start. The ride isn't over yet, is it?"

"Jameson would say we have an information management problem. It's just taking a while for the bodies to stack up."

More than one horse, all for the same cowboy?

"It's no secret that you were in East Africa recently. And, it would be criminal negligence on the part of the CIA and others if Sahar didn't operate in that part of the world. What could be mistaken for coincidences stacking up may be little more than optimizing available resources. It's also blatantly obvious that the faculty and staff shares information on the students among themselves. The two-way firewalling between Security and Faculty notwithstanding."

"Got bored and went looking for reading materials?"

"I don't expect to ever get bored enough to take HIVE or Belvedere on. You'd probably call it 'a learning experience'. So would Belvedere."

"Speaking of taking too much on." Benjamin looked around. Then he turned off to a side tunnel, one that was supposed to be a dead end, before firing off a white noise generator app from his own gear. Throat mics and earpieces were good for not annoying others while they listen in on you. For OPSEC, they kind of sucked. They were getting too commonplace for even children to believe you were talking to yourself. How was a guy supposed to convince bystanders that you were too crazy to eavesdrop on with that?

Not that the noisy box wasn't a big red flare announcing 'Adults talking here, limited time offer on dirt!'

Colombine waited for Benjamin to start, then asked, "What's really bothering you?"

"All things are knowable in the Tao, right? Looks like I've got some research ahead of me. And lots of work on shielding, if that will work. If I'm an open book to Serenella, who else has free access to the Mattie-toy's negatronic cranial unit?"

'Mattie'? 'Toy'? Not Good.

Colombine recorded the warning signals for further analysis. On second thought, she flagged the recent incident with a higher threat level. Some part of Benjamin's Really Bad Time had been revealed.

She asked, "Shouldn't we call it learning opportunities all around?" Even as she said it, she understood why the euphemism was so widely hated. The opportunities for learning how to be a functional person and the consequences of failed attempts piled up like bodies around both of them.

"Pretty much. So, I guess we let the past rest and try again tomorrow?"

"Best plan I've heard today."